Another place occupies my life is my writing desk where the surface is an organized mess (despite my mom's overdramatized description of a war site). She says similar comment on my clothing shelf, too. There is a pile of books on the top of each other, some of them I have never read, but want to. I realized that somehow I did not like to buy books few years ago, which I thought useless. Then now, I would love to read them, but don't really have time for that. I did not value books in the past than I do now. Next to that, there is a stack of papers related to work and random academic books, always stays there until they are needed. If you look around there some pictures, post it notes and name tags are hanging on the wall.
In front of me, there is a space for my laptop where music plays that I dance to, where words overflow my blog. Excited, joyful, desolated and pondered thoughts go out and walk to be scripted on to the screen. Once, I wanted to share everything I thought right to everyone. Strangely, once in a while I do not feel so. There are times you feel extrovert and introvert at the same time. They cannot be in the same body in my old perspective. In fact, they can. In front of my wooden desk, I felt different me many times. I do sometimes accept myself and deny myself. One thing that I am sure about me is I am me, messy, exotic, stupid and real..like my desk.
